


Dearly Beloved

by writingsbysam



Series: The Recollections of Our Torn Youth [1]
Category: Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, The Iliad - Homer, The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: Angst, Arranged Marriage, Doubting religion, Feudalism, Inspired by Romeo and Juliet, Love, Love Letters, M/M, More than one thing keeping them apart, Religion, but gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:00:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 1,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22535890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingsbysam/pseuds/writingsbysam
Summary: A story told in letters, of two boys who grew up together. One the Crown Prince of England, and the other the servant born to be his companion. A story of finding each other again and again, even after a thousand years.
Relationships: Achilles/Patroclus of Opus (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Alexandros III of Macedon | Alexander the Great/Hephaistion of Macedon, Apollo/Hyacinthus (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Apollo/Icarus (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore)
Series: The Recollections of Our Torn Youth [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1621753
Comments: 4
Kudos: 47





	1. July 18th

July 18, 1406,   
Dear my Beloved,  
Theo, our parents forbid us, even as friends. You and I grew up together, the same soul in two bodies. (You often told me that, whispered into the stygian night, that like those long dead conquerors, we are the same.)   
I miss you, I miss the glimpses of fancy parties and the glint of gold. I miss stolen glances and laughing under the sun. Do you remember that day when we left the city for your father’s other castle? When we lay under the summer sun and just told each other stories for hours on end? (Theo’s eyes were the same earthen colour as my clothes. Your eyes tracing the scars on my face and the callouses on my fingers.)   
We are the lords of bad decisions. The gods of messing up. I can’t help but feel as if a very part of my soul is being ripped from me whenever you walk by, draped in purple silk, like some damned Roman god. Your eyes will catch mine, every single goddamn time, it is our curse, and then in a half second of cruelty, you will smile at me. It won’t be the same, it will not be your smile, our smile. It will be the practiced mask of a prince greeting one of his subjects, not a god greeting his devoted believer. I always have believed more in you than any stupid God anyways.   
I have not seen you truly in months and I have doubts this letter will ever even reach you, you, not your adviser.   
I have heard your coronation is in a month. I have no illusions of me being there. I am not the kind of person they allow into those sort of things. (It is a miracle I even have a last name.) I wish you the best and I know you will be a great king, and a great leader. Maybe even like Arthur, the king of all those legends. Or even like Alexander. (Would that make me Hephaistion?)  
I have no clue when I will see you again, and that very thought tears me apart every single day.  
I think it is time for our final goodbyes, so goodbye my king, for the last time.   
  
Your Beloved


	2. July 20th

July 20th, 1406  
Dear my Philtatos,   
Please, don’t leave me. I couldn’t bear to never see your face again. Please don’t go. No one here is real and I feel like I am being suffocated in my very own court. I am too young to be on the throne, and with my father gone there is no one I can turn to. You are the only one I can trust in this entire kingdom. God please spare me.   
My adviser, John is his name, reads all the letters I send. I must get this to you myself. However, I can’t stand to look upon your face, for fear of me leaving my post and running away. (Even that would be a better fate than this one.)   
My days are long, filled with useless meetings and squabbling lords, and I just wish you were by my side keeping me sane. My days are long, and my nights are short and fitful. Dreaming is always the worst.   
Some nights I dream of wings, and the sun leaving blisters on my back. Other nights I dream of screaming your name, and my armour weighing down your body. Other nights I dream my sword crying tears of blood instead of water, slashing down empires and slaughtering entire peoples. But every night I dream of you, and on the good nights I dream of your singing and the clashes of wooden swords from our childhoods. I dream of the sea and the trip to the Mediterranean coast of France. (The waves were the same colour of your eyes.)   
We had a good run, my love, but I’m not giving up on you yet, and I have a feeling that you aren’t giving up on me either. We are the same, beloved, dreadfully the same. Any other end would be a better end than this one.   
_**Thrones are dreadfully lonely places.**_

Your King, Theo


	3. July 21st

July 21st, 1406

Theo, we were a _**mistake.**_


	4. July 22nd

July 22nd, 1406

Philtatos,

**_Can we make the same mistakes until the morning breaks?_ **


	5. July 23rd

“He’s dead,” Theo cried, “the only one I have ever loved is dead, and God knows we’re not going to heaven. Our very love was considered a sin, but it never felt like sin, it felt like pure, it felt holy. We were holy when we were together.” He seethed with anger and retribution, for his ~~love,~~ no, his _**God**_ was dead.   
And the poor Crown Prince cried, for two days and two nights, weeping over the body of Hector. This Hector was not a prince of Troy, this Hector was a servant born to serve Theo, to worship the very ground he walked on, just not in the way that they had planned. Their love grew like the climbing roses on the castle walls:

  
_Every day they’d go to school, a rare privilege for a boy of Hector’s class. (Well really he was there to follow Theo around, but he was still learning.) As soon as the teacher dismissed them, they’d run to the practice arena and play with wooden swords for hours on end._  
 _That didn’t last for long, as Theo was the crown prince and needed to learn how to rule a kingdom also. He’d often ramble to Hector,_  
 _“Hector! When I’m king you’re going to be my adviser and we’ll rule the kingdom together!” Hector would just give him a small smile and say,_  
 _“Well then my prince, I suppose we shall.” He knew, even from that early of an age, that they could never be together that long. That this friendship would be too much to handle in the court and he always knew that Theo would do what’s best for his kingdom. (No matter the personal cost.) He was always the noble one, it ran in his blood. Hector knew he would follow Theo to the ends of the Earth if necessary, it was his job after all._

  
Hector’s burial was a simple affair, no last rights, no mourners, just a place in the royal mausoleum and a distraught Theo standing in the mists, alone. He wished those mists would swallow him whole and take him to what was supposedly the land of the Fae, any fate would be better than standing here while Hector was buried beneath the ground, with the plain purple shroud that covered him head to toe. (The irony is that he only got to wear the purples when he was dead.)  
His coronation took place as planned, a month after the last letter he received from Hector. All the Lords and Ladies, the Dukes and Duchesses, and all the Knights too. The world was painted grey the second the crown touched his head. He would have rather had the whole world on his shoulders, as long as Hector was there with him. He would much rather bear the weight of the world together, than the weight of a kingdom alone.   
He was engaged to an Austrian princess within a year, her name was Maria. She was cunning, intelligent, and kind. Hector would have liked her. She understood that he would never be romantically in love with her, she was his best friend, however, and a great queen. She made the burden of ruling a little easier.   
He had his first child within the next two years. He was named Hector. Theo loved his son more than anything in the world. It was fitting, poetic, and all that other stuff. But it will never truly be happily ever after, they lost that chance what seems like a thousand years ago.   
Old and gnarled Theodore sat on his throne, for what he assumed was his last time. It was time for his son to rule, he was twice the man Theo had ever been.   
“Maria, do you think I will see him again?” he asked, barely holding on.   
“Of course, you two were destined for each other like Hyacinthus and Apollo, Achilles and Patroclus, and Alexander and Hephaistion. You will always find each other.” She said in a soft voice, “Rest my husband, our son will take care of the kingdom. He will take care of me. Rest, old friend, you will find him again.” And with one last goodbye, the king slipped into inky darkness, knowing he will find his Philtatos once again, like the thousand times before. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's the end of that story, I felt bad for them writing this.... Please tell me what you thought! Any feedback is appreciated.


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